


Slow Show

by alterocentrist



Category: Booksmart (2019)
Genre: Chatting & Messaging, Correspondence, Epilogue, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 18:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20214049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alterocentrist/pseuds/alterocentrist
Summary: A year of Amy and Hope, post-Booksmart.





	1. Chapter 1

Amy: Hey, thanks for accepting my request.

Hope: No worries!

Amy: So Molly told me that Annabelle told her that you flew out to Ireland

Hope: Intriguing info chain you’ve got there. Yeah, I got to Dublin yesterday

Amy: Good flight?

Amy: How long are you planning to stay there for?

Hope: Flight was okay. I’m going across to Galway tomorrow

Hope: You’re in Botswana? How are you finding it?

Amy: It’s good

Hope: Yeah?

Amy: It’s… a culture shock, to be honest.

Amy: I’m feeling a little bit out of my depth

Amy: Maybe I’m just homesick

Hope: You’ll manage

Amy: How do you know that?

Hope: I know you

Amy: You don’t, really

Amy: Sorry

Hope: Yeah, I know… I guess I’m a little presumptuous.

Amy: But I’d like you to get to know me. And vice-versa.

Amy: If that’s okay.

* * *

To:  [](mailto:h.carlin@gmail.com) h.carlin@gmail.com   
From:  [](mailto:antsleramy@gmail.com) antsleramy@gmail.com   
Subject: Hello

Hi Hope,

Sorry I haven’t been able to reply to your messages properly. I’ve been so busy and we keep missing each other. I’m online when you’re off, etc etc. Anyway, I’ve started reading that book you recommended,  _ The Pedagogy of the Oppressed _ . It’s made me rethink my purpose here as a volunteer, you know.

I was aware going into this that I’m doing the typical white saviour thing, and I’ve really tried  _ not _ to be that. But I think it wasn’t until I started reading this book that I got a better idea of how to actually not be a white saviour. So… Thanks for the recommendation, I guess.

By the way, you’ve posted so many photos on Instagram but none of them are actually of you. One might accuse you of just playing a trick and not actually going backpacking anywhere at all…

Take care and talk soon.

Amy

* * *

Hope: Just read your email and happy to see that you’re online

Hope: How did you manage to find that book so quickly?

Amy: I got it on the Kindle app on my iPad

Hope: Ew, Amazon

Hope: That said, my parents got me a Kindle as a graduation/going-away present. They said I didn’t need to waste so much of my luggage allowance on books.

Hope: No ethical consumption under late capitalism

Amy: No ethical consumption under late capitalism

Amy: Omg I can’t believe we typed that at the same time!

Hope: Hahaha

Hope: Shit, I gotta go, my free wifi allowance is running out.

Hope: Catch you later.

* * *

To:  [](mailto:antsleramy@gmail.com) antsleramy@gmail.com   
From:  [](mailto:h.carlin@gmail.com) h.carlin@gmail.com   
Subject: Showing you mine

Hey--I could say the same about you. You’ve been in Botswana like, what, six weeks now? I was expecting more photos of you against those beautiful African sunsets, or whatever. Maybe even of you making tampons with the African women.

Two reasons why I haven’t posted any photos of myself: 1) it’s proven difficult to find a lot of people trustworthy enough to hand my phone or my camera to without snatching it, and even more difficult to find people who can take good photos. And 2) I don’t want to be that girl posting myself gallivanting over Europe, even if that’s exactly what I’m doing. That’s such a “basic hot girl” thing, don’t you think?

Anyway, I’ve attached a couple of photos from when I was in Antwerp. For your eyes only…

Show me yours.

Hope

* * *

To:  [](mailto:h.carlin@gmail.com) h.carlin@gmail.com   
From:  [](mailto:antsleramy@gmail.com) antsleramy@gmail.com   
Subject: RE: Showing you mine

Europe suits you! And please stop reminding me about that time I called you a “basic hot girl”. I was upset and misguided and judgemental. I know better now.

And yes, it’s only fair, so I also attached a couple of photos. Excuse the awfully dorky expressions on my face. Not all of us are born photogenic.

I saw on your Instagram that you’re in Croatia. That’s the same timezone as Botswana! Do you want to call or video call at some point? Only if your internet connection is ideal, though.

Amy

* * *

To:  [](mailto:anstleramy@gmail.com) anstleramy@gmail.com   
From:  [](mailto:h.carlin@gmail.com) h.carlin@gmail.com   
Subject: RE: RE: Showing you mine

Stop with the self-deprecating attitude. You look great in those photos.

And yes, a call or video call sounds cool. Let me know what time suits.

Hope

* * *

Amy: Thanks for chatting with me

Amy: Sorry I was so awkward

Hope: What did I say about the self-deprecation?

Amy: Good thing it wasn’t video

Amy: We spent all day outside yesterday and I’m all ruddy from sunburn

Hope: I wouldn’t have cared either way

Hope: You don’t think highly of yourself, do you?

Amy: I’m not a very cool person

Hope: That doesn’t really matter. I think other things count more.

Amy: Like what

Hope: Being nice or being smart

Hope: Or not being afraid to devote yourself in something you believe in.

Hope: So shall I call you again tomorrow?

Amy: That’ll be nice

* * *

Hope: Landed in New York

Amy: How long will you be there for?

Hope: Just 3 hours

Hope: It doesn’t really matter, I’ll be back in a couple of weeks anyway

Amy: Wait what

Amy: Wait where are you going to college?

Amy: Sorry, I realise it’s never come up because I never asked!

Hope: Tisch

Amy: Whoa

Hope: Yeah

Amy: That’s only like, down the road from Columbia

Hope: I know

Amy: Whoa

Amy: I was thinking that you were gonna go to Berkeley or something

Hope: That’s really more your scene, isn’t it?

Amy: Haha

Amy: I guess so

Hope: I did get accepted there, but I only applied to make my parents happy. They don’t have a photography program. I applied to CalArts too and got in.

Amy: CalArts sounds pretty awesome

Hope: I liked the sound of Tisch’s program better. Besides, if my parents can afford to send me to New York for school… Why not, right?

Hope: Also at this point I’m pretty sick of LA

Amy: I feel that

Amy: Tell me all about New York, okay? When I get there next year, I want to feel like I already know it.

* * *

To:  [](mailto:anstleramy@gmail.com) anstleramy@gmail.com  
From:  [](mailto:h.carlin@gmail.com) h.carlin@gmail.com   
Subject: Concrete jungle wet dream tomato

Hey Amy,

Sorry that I haven’t been messaging as much recently. College is kicking my ass, and so is the time difference between here and Botswana. I never seem to catch you awake or some sort of available.

Last weekend I had a free Sunday so Triple A managed to convince me to take the train to New Haven to hang out with her and (you guessed it) Molly. They showed me around New Haven. Frankly, and no offense, but it’s a bit of a shithole that’s probably even shittier when Yale is out for the summer. Molly tried to romanticize it, because of course she did.

Anyway, I’m not writing this to bitch about your wife. I think she’s a hoot to be around, actually, and she’s even better when I know that I can hop on a train back to New York and not see her for another couple of months.

But I guess what I wanted to say was that I thought that it would have been way more fun if you were there, too.

Please don’t embarrass me for admitting this.

Hope

P.S.: Attached are photos of the view from my dorm room

* * *

To:  [](mailto:h.carlin@gmail.com) h.carlin@gmail.com  
From:  [](mailto:antsleramy@gmail.com) antsleramy@gmail.com   
Subject: RE: Concrete jungle wet dream tomato

Let me be clear with you: Molly is not, and will never be, my wife.

She doesn’t have as many glowing things to say about you, of course. She thought it was weird that you still kept calling Annabelle “Triple A” and that she doesn’t seem to mind.

Please don’t embarrass  _ me  _ for admitting this, but I don’t know who I’m more jealous of: you or Molly. 

The holidays are coming up and the homesickness is starting to rear its head. Can I call you sometime? I don’t mind if it’s gonna be super late for me over here. I like talking to you.

Let me know when you’re free.

Amy

P.S.: In keeping with tradition, I’ve attached photos of the view from the community centre where I work.

* * *

Amy: You know what? Karl Marx was right!

Hope: What makes you say that?

Amy: Idk

Amy: Well I do know

Amy: The longer I stay here the more historical materialism makes sense

Hope: I don’t think you needed to leave LA to realise that Marx was right

Amy: Poor guy though, he thought capitalism was a phase and instead it’s gonna end us all

Hope: I love it when you’re being bleak like this

Amy: Love?

Hope: You know what I mean

* * *

Hope: Happy birthday! Did your present get there?

Amy: Yes, thank you. You know I’ve never read this book before?

Hope: You’ve never read Pride and Prejudice before?

Amy: It’s not like we did much outside of American literature in Ms Fine’s class!

Hope: Are you speaking ill of Ms Fine?!

Amy: Come on, you know what I mean

Amy: Besides, I always thought Jane Austen was excessively heterosexual

Hope: I don’t think that’s a fair call to make, actually...

Hope: She was a spinster and she wrote six novels about how useless straight people are. She must be some kind of gay.

Amy: Omg Hope, maybe you’re onto something!

* * *

To:  [](mailto:anstleramy@gmail.com) anstleramy@gmail.com   
From:  [](mailto:h.carlin@gmail.com) h.carlin@gmail.com   
Subject: Whoa

Part of my program requires us to spend time in museums and galleries, absorbing what’s out there and keeping up with what the photography world is into at the moment.

The other day I ended up going to the Museum of Jewish Heritage. I’ve been in New York since August and it’s already April and this is the first time I’ve been interested in going. 

You know my dad’s Jewish, right? But we weren’t really raised Jewish, since his family wasn’t very religious, and Mom isn’t Jewish so technically my siblings and I aren’t even Jewish, because of the matrilineal aspect of it all. (Sorry, I’m sure you know all about that already.)

Anyway, I was walking around the museum and they had this exhibition of portraits of Holocaust survivors living in New York and it just hit me how fucking lucky I am.

Being a “basic hot girl” who looks vaguely exotic, hardly anybody around our area has pegged me as someone of Jewish descent and that makes me a very lucky person. Maybe in a different time and in a different place I would have been in serious danger looking the way I do.

Also the photographs startled me in a different way. I never thought of using my camera to tell a story like that. I feel like I want to go out and do something that really matters. I don’t know how much a camera can do, though. It’ll be nothing like what you’re doing now.

Sorry for the kinda rant… I’m just a little bit confused, which is a strange feeling for me. I just know you’d have something smart to say about this.

Hope

* * *

Amy: Hope, are you still awake?

Amy: can I call?


	2. Chapter 2

Hope’s email was the first notification on Amy’s phone when she woke up that morning. She read through it quickly, then read it again. She could feel her chest contracting at Hope’s words. It was just after midnight in New York. Maybe Hope was still up.

_ Yes and yes _, was Hope’s reply.

Amy jabs the call button on WhatsApp and holds the phone to her ear.

Hope picks up after one ring. “Hey, Amy,” she says.

A familiar warm feeling blooms in Amy’s stomach. She thought she would get accustomed to hearing Hope’s voice, since they talk to each other at least once every two weeks, but her body still doesn’t suppress the rush when Hope says her name. “Hey,” she says. “I’m surprised you’re awake so late.”

“I could say the same about you,” Hope says.

“No, I actually just woke up. I leave home at like seven-thirty,” Amy says. “I’ll get up in a bit, I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“You sounded like you need someone to talk to,” Amy responds. When Hope doesn’t immediately reply, Amy clears her throat. “Uh, I kinda guessed you were Jewish.”

Hope chuckles. “How?”

“Your last name,” Amy says. “But it makes sense that you didn’t grow up practising. You didn’t have a bat mitzvah.”

“What if I _ did _have a bat mitzvah and you weren’t invited?” Hope asks, and Amy could hear the smirk in her voice.

“That was in eighth grade, Hope… All the Jewish kids invited the whole class to their birthdays. They even invited the little loser kids like me,” Amy says. She recalls Molly’s bat mitzvah, full of kids that didn’t even like Molly. They failed to conceal their dislike once they realised that Molly wasn’t as wealthy as them, and therefore couldn’t afford a fancy event like everyone else’s.

“For the record, I didn’t think you were a little loser kid,” Hope says.

“What did you think, then?”

“Uh.” Hope is silent for a moment, and Amy imagines her twirling her hair around her fingers as she chews the inside of her cheek. “I thought you were a bookworm and a goody-two-shoes, and a little scared of people, but you must have been some kind of saint to put up with Molly. She was intense even back then. I guess I found that intriguing.”

“Oh.” The thought of Hope noticing her even way back then thrills Amy just a little bit. She decides to change the subject. “Anyway, are you still thinking about the museum? Is that why you’re still up?”

“I’m actually catching up on some reading for a class, but I’m still wired from the museum too,” Hope tells her. “Sorry about that email, by the way. I typed it up on the subway home, I wasn’t really thinking.”

“No, I liked it,” Amy says. “Thank you for telling me. I know you don’t really let on much.” She adjusts her position in bed, sitting up a little higher. “I think whatever you decide to do, it’ll matter. It’ll be enough.”

“As a photographer, though?” Hope asks, and for the first time, Amy hears a hint of insecurity creep into her voice.

“You can be like Lewis Hine,” Amy says.

Hope laughs, though she’s starting to sound tired. “Jeez, you know a lot of stuff, don’t you?”

“It’s kind of my thing,” Amy says, shrugging her shoulders, as if Hope is sitting next to her instead of thousands of miles away in New York. “I think everything we do matters if we want it to matter. You know, I went to Bible camp every summer until ninth grade?”

“Oh man, I can’t wait to see where this story ends,” Hope quips.

“Atheism is valid and all, but atheists who dismiss thousands of years of knowledge and contemplation and analysis of the world just because it’s attached to the idea of a higher power are just close-minded snobs,” Amy shoots back. She was raised Episcopalian. She stopped going to Bible camp after ninth grade, but continued to attend church with her parents, even if she became increasingly unsure about the existence of God. But she still believes that an intelligent human society is the reason for the survival of religion, and she won’t be convinced otherwise.

“Okay, no need to get snippy,” Hope says. “I’m not an atheist. I’m not anything, actually. Finish your story about Bible camp.”

“We’re Episcopalian, so Bible camp wasn’t really about the Bible that often, but I remember during evening prayers, I volunteered to read out the Scripture, and it was from the First Letter of Peter.”

“Like _ Saint _Peter?”

“Who knows? Probably not, apparently the style of writing is too highbrow for a middle-aged fisherman from Galilee.” Amy chuckles as Hope snorts knowingly on the other end of the line. “Anyway, the reading was like, ‘Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others’. That’s the only line I remember, probably because I wanted to live my life taking it on board.”

Hope exhales loudly. “It always blows my mind, how much shit you know.”

“There’s actually a lot I don’t know,” Amy tells her. “I guess that’s why I try to learn a lot.”

On the other end, Hope hums agreeably. Neither of them say anything for a few seconds. “Thanks, Amy,” Hope finally says.

“For what?”

“Just clearing things up,” Hope says noncommittally. She yawns. “Well, I guess this reading is going nowhere. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Yeah, go to bed,” Amy says.

“And _ you _get out of bed,” Hope says. “Thanks again. For calling.”

“You’re very welcome,” Amy says, not caring if Hope makes fun of her for sounding so serious.

But Hope just sighs gently. “Good night, Amy,” she says.

“See ya, Hope.”

* * *

June rolls around quicker than Amy expected it to. She flies out of Gaborone at night, stops over in Johannesburg, then in Atlanta, before getting on the last leg of her journey. During her brief time in Atlanta, she puts on a fresh shirt and a fresh pair of underwear after wiping herself down with baby wipes and brushing her teeth. She doesn’t enjoy being on the plane. When she finally touches down in LA, she feels like crying.

Her parents meet her at the airport, with Molly in tow. They greet each other and hug, but Amy wants to rush through the whole thing and get out of there. LAX is so loud and busy and _ American _ that it overwhelms her.

They get in the car and her parents drive them straight to their favourite diner. Amy manages to calm down enough to order bacon and eggs and hash browns, and the shitty drip coffee that they serve. She tells them about Botswana, stuff that they already heard before, through her messages and emails and video calls, but it feels different in person.

They go home afterwards. Molly hangs around in Amy’s room as Amy showers and gets dressed. They talk some more, mostly about Yale, and some about the preparation Amy needs to do for her big move to New York. At some point, Amy buries her face in her pillow, feeling mentally exhausted.

Molly, thankfully, changes tack. “You should rest today and tomorrow, but we should totally do something the day after that,” she says. “Do you wanna go to Venice Beach?”

Amy lifts her head up from the pillow. “Venice Beach sounds great.”

Molly goes home soon after, telling Amy to enjoy her rest day and that she would message her during her breaks at her summer job. Amy goes downstairs to get a glass of water, pointedly ignoring her suitcase, still unopened on the living room floor, opting to head back upstairs instead. She picks up her phone from her desk and sees a few unread messages from Hope.

Hope has just spent the last two weeks vacationing in Australia with her family. Her last message says, _ I fly back in two days. We should hang out or something. _

* * *

Six days later, Hope picks her up from her house. Hope’s car is an early 2000s Toyota Corolla, silver, and unexpectedly endearing. As Amy approaches the car, Hope lowers the passenger side window. Her hair is in a messy bun and she’s wearing sunglasses, and she smiles at Amy. The doors click open.

Amy gets into Hope’s car and takes a quick look around. It’s relatively clean, save for some dirt and grass on the car floor. It doesn’t smell like fast food or artificial air freshener. It just smells like Hope.

“Hey, uh, welcome home,” Amy says.

“Same to you,” Hope says.

Amy buckles her seatbelt. “For some reason I thought you’d have a Jeep.”

Hope laughs and mockingly clutches at her chest. “Really? Not even a Subaru?”

Amy tries to think of something to say, something funny and apologetic at the same time, but her mind is coming up blank.

Hope flicks her indicator on and checks her mirrors. Without looking at Amy, she says: “Nice to know that you’ve been thinking about me, though.” Chuckling softly, she pulls out from the curb and they drive down the street. “I thought we should go to Griffith Park,” she tells Amy. Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah. That sounds great.” Amy’s cheeks still burned from Hope’s previous comment.

They walk around Griffith Park. Hope tells her about Australia.

“Isn’t it winter there?” Amy asks.

“Winter there isn’t much different to winter here, so it wasn’t a big deal,” Hope says.

“Did you go to the outback?” Amy asks.

Hope shakes her head. “My parents aren’t big outdoors people, and neither am I,” she says. “We went to Melbourne and then to Adelaide. I thought I’d outgrown vacation with my parents, but I got to check out a lot of galleries, and like, we spent a lot of time at wine tastings.” She shrugs. “It ended up being pretty cool.”

“Did your older sisters come?” Hope had told Amy that she had two older sisters and one younger brother.

“Nah, just me and my brother,” Hope says. She stops walking and places a hand on Amy’s shoulder. “Wait, stop here.” She digs in her crossbody bag and pulls out a small film camera. She winds it with her thumb. She raises the camera to her face, aiming it at Amy’s direction.

“Hey!” Amy exclaims, instinctively shielding her face.

“I only have a couple of shots left. I plan to drop this off at the lab on the way home,” Hope says. “I gotta use the film up somehow.”

“On _ me _?”

Hope shrugs. “Why not? You’re nice to look at.”

The next sound that comes out of Amy’s mouth is a panicked, high-pitched whine. “Stop,” she manages to blurt out.

Frowning, Hope places the camera back in her bag. She looks around her, as if checking if there are many people around. “Let’s sit down,” she tells Amy, nodding towards a nearby park bench. They sit beside each other, with half an arm’s length between them. Hope takes her sunglasses off, and when her eyes meet Amy’s, they’re softer, the way they briefly were during that night on Nick’s aunt’s bathroom floor. “Can I tell you something?” she asks, almost shyly.

“Yeah,” Amy replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

“The entire senior year, in English class, I’d watch you and wished that I could just pull out my camera and take your picture. You know, like,” Hope blew out a long breath, “that thing people say. Take a picture, it’ll last longer? I hate to be a cliche, but _ god _, that was me.”

“Y-You watched me,” Amy repeats. “Why?”

Hope laughs bitterly. “You really have no fucking idea, huh?” She puts her sunglasses back on and gets up again. “Let’s go up to the observatory.” She starts walking without even waiting for a reply.

Amy scrambles after her. “Hope, wait up.” She practically has to run just to catch up with Hope. Hope doesn’t slow down. If anything, she seems to be walking faster. “Hope!” Amy calls out again. “Can you just wait a second?”

Finally, Hope stops again, under a big shady tree. She looks at Amy, her jaw set, the sunglasses acting as a barrier. “What is it, Amy?” she demands.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Amy says.

“I could say the same about you! That night at Nick’s party,” Hope says. “Did you kiss me just because you were upset?” She shakes her head. “I mean, we did more than just kiss… But did you only do that because there was no one else?”

“What? Of course not.” If she’s being honest, Amy doesn’t know. That night was too crazy for her. She didn’t know what possessed her to kiss Hope, but once she started, she learned that stopping was difficult. “Why did _ you _let me kiss you?”

Hope lets out an incredulous laugh. “Do I have to spell everything out for you, Amy?” she asks. She takes her sunglasses off and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’ve liked you for ages, but the only way I could get you to talk to me was if I wound you up... and that night, I was happy that you finally noticed me.” She smirks, despite herself. “Even if you did call me a basic hot girl.”

“You liked _ me _ ?” This is getting all too much for Amy. Hope Carlin, the girl who would constantly challenge her in English class, and in American History the year before that, _ liked _her? Hope, the girl who had a snarky comment about her wearing a suit to the prom. Hope, the girl who was almost aggressively insistent that she was too cool to care about anything.

“Jesus Christ.” Hope rolls her eyes. “I should have known this was too good to be true.”

“This?”

“Yes, _ this _!” Hope gestures impatiently at the space between the two of them. “I thought we had something, you know. We’ve been talking constantly for a year now, and you’ve… You’ve become like, one of the good parts of my day.” She shifts her weight from one foot to another. “And now you’re back here, and we’re finally hanging out in person, but I don’t know if I was just imagining things all this time.”

“I enjoy talking to you, too,” Amy says. “I thought we’ve become really good friends.”

“Well, is that all you want to be?” Hope asks. “And be honest.”

Amy thinks about it. Hope was a bit of a pain in the ass throughout high school. The Hope that Amy got to know over the last year was funny, interesting and fiercely intelligent. And it hit Amy. Hope had _ always _been like that, even when she was doing it to piss Amy off. Maybe Amy never looked for Hope, but she popped up exactly when Amy needed her. She looks up at Hope standing in front of her, frowning, though it’s hard to miss the pleading in her eyes.

“At school, I noticed you, you know, when you’d argue with me in class and all, but I honestly didn’t think about you much,” Amy begins. She watches as Hope’s face flicks through a multitude of expressions. “Then at Nick’s party, I think I was angry because I was a little sick of being pushed around, being told what to do… I kissed you because I realised I actually like it when you challenge me.”

Hope raises an eyebrow. “You kiss everyone who challenges you?”

“No, just you,” Amy says.

“And what makes me different?”

“You do it without ever failing to acknowledge that what I have to say is still as valid,” Amy says. She looks down at her feet and kicks at some gravel. “Also, you’re hot.”

“So I’m different because I’m the only hot person who argues with you,” Hope says.

“No, no, that’s not the point,” Amy insists. She doesn’t like it when people think that it was necessary to attack someone personally just to disagree with them. Hope is probably one of the only people she has met who understands that. Even Molly forgets sometimes. But Amy’s tired of explaining. She looks into Hope’s questioning eyes. “The point is…” she starts, but instead of finishing her sentence, she gets on her tiptoes and kisses Hope instead.

Unlike their first kiss, which was intense and confusing, Amy moves with a sureness this time. She pulls away almost immediately, to check Hope’s reaction.

“Okay.” Hope begins nodding. “I think I understand.”

Amy’s heart pounds in her ears. “We should- we should keep walking up.”

“Yeah, we should.”

They continue up to the observatory with their hands occasionally brushing against each other.

On Mount Hollywood, they look out into the city in silence. They lean against the barrier, bodies tilted towards each other. “Do you think you’re going to miss LA?” Amy asks.

Hope scans the view in front of them. LA’s skyscrapers and freeways are bathed in the light of the high sun. Hope’s hand disappears into her bag again, and it emerges holding the camera. She aims it and the camera clicks as she presses the shutter. She lowers the camera and looks back at Amy. “I think it’ll always be home,” she says. “But I don’t think I’m the kind of person meant to stay home.”

“I don’t think I am either,” Amy says. She lets that statement hang in the air for a while, before asking: “We’ll see each other in New York?” Despite talking regularly for the last year, they’ve managed to avoid talking about what things would be like between them when they’re both in New York.

“Well, I kinda want to kiss you more, so I sure hope so,” Hope says bluntly.

Emboldened, Amy inches closer to Hope. She smiles as Hope’s expression grows curious. She leans in, right into Hope’s personal space. Her hand moves down to find Hope’s. She takes the camera out of Hope’s hand, and steps backwards, leaving Hope looking a little confused. This makes her laugh.

“Oh, come on,” Hope groans, watching Amy wind the camera.

Amy looks at the indicator on the camera. “One shot left,” she says, still grinning. Before Hope could protest, she raises the camera to her face, lines up Hope’s scowling face in the viewfinder, and presses the shutter.


End file.
